The Man Behind the King
by clairenbearen
Summary: Prince Consort. Whatever. Based off the prompt, "you're just like your dad."


He couldn't remember his father.

It wasn't a terrible thing; it was simply a fact.

He couldn't remember the sound of his father's voice, the feel of his father's hand upon his cheek, the memory of him sitting upon his father's shoulders. He couldn't recall the nights his father had stayed up late to make sure he was alright or the time he had taken to try and teach him how to read.

Every time Nicholas tried to recall his father, nothing of importance came to mind.

In recent years, the image has become more grainy, but if he concentrates hard enough, he can recall the face of William Devereaux: blond hair, electric blue eyes, a sharp jawline, high forehead, and – frankly – bushy eyebrows.

He may not have remembered his dad, but he knew enough: William Devereaux had attended the University of Oxford, choosing to study mathematics and philosophy. He had been arranged to marry Joanna Devereaux (née Windsor) at the age of thirteen, and he had married her on April 16, 1980.

Public records handed him information; they didn't tell him of the man his father was.

Nicholas scoffed. His father was more of a page in a textbook than he was a paragraph in Nicholas's own story.

He didn't know the difference between fact and fiction when it came to his father; his uncle had told him things, but it was merely to convince Nicholas to pursue the throne of Genovia.

That's why he paid attention to public records and, yes, Wikipedia.

In the years following his reluctant attempted coup, he had tried to block his uncle from his mind.

But upon his attempted closure of an unwanted past, a new story sprung forth, filling his once torn pages with fresh color.

Mia was an open book; she spilled her secrets almost willingly. She was not afraid to love, and the walls of her heart were easily removed.

He, on the other hand, was a book that could only be opened by a select few. Throughout most of his life, the people he had let in had only disappointed him. He kept to himself, and he hated revealing secrets. He detested vulnerability and hardly saw any use for it.

The two opposing personalities normally got along fairly well, but it was when Mia wanted to learn more that he shut her out, more forcefully each time it was brought up.

Despite his smooth nature and seemingly high self-respect, he had developed a list of insecurities about himself that he never cared to share. Growing up, he had seemed like a boy who had it all together; inwardly, however, he was breaking more and more with each breath. It didn't matter that he was a lord in a small country in Europe – he was never enough in anyone's eyes, and it cut deep within him.

So when Mia came along, he felt himself slowly being pieced back together again. The process was slow – he never divulged information that she needed to know.

Somehow, she managed to show him that he was enough for her.

And, with that, he told her about all of the hideous things about himself – the physical and verbal of his uncle's maid, the reason behind the scars on his face, the bullies who caused him to adopt a façade, his mother's leaving, his pain and regret over trying to usurp her, and everything else in the entire world that had ever made him feel like shit.

He had expected her to walk away. To tell him that, no, she just couldn't handle being with a man who had that much red in his ledger.

But she didn't.

Instead, she pulled him closer, embracing him and whispering over and over again in his ear: "I love you. You are enough. You don't have to _do_ anything. You are enough."

Six years after their first meeting, he was wandering in the courtyard garden, absorbing the news.

He was going to be a father.

Despite the overwhelming joy that he was now feeling, insecurity showed its revolting face yet again.

All because _he couldn't remember his father_.

How could he be a father when he never had a reputable example to live up to?

How could he be a father when he didn't know what it was like to have one?

How could ever be anything but a man so broken that he could never piece himself together? It was his wife, his amazing wife, who had healed him in the first place.

Nicholas had no doubt that Mia had already told – among others – her grandparents and Lilly. His theory was proven correct when he saw Joe weaving his way through the finely trimmed hedges to reach Nicholas.

Joe wasn't a smiling type of man. Often, one just _knew_ if and when Joe was amused by something. Today was no different.

Joe stood in front of him, his smile not on his lips but in his eyes. "You're worried." There was no greeting, just a simple statement.

Nicholas looked up at the older man, who, despite his age, looked remarkably youthful. Mia had always said it was the twinkle in his eyes, and now...well, Nicholas couldn't deny it.

Joe raised his eyebrows and spoke again. "Are you?"

Nicholas thought about lying; truly, he did. He sucked in a breath, preparing his silvertongue for a wave of words that would hold no value to either man. But as he opened his mouth, only a single syllable popped out.

"Yup."

Joe nodded his head slowly and deliberately, turning to sit on the bench that Nicholas had found during his earlier pacing.

The two men sat in silence for several minutes (Nicholas studied his watch, trying to take his mind off of Joe's eyes burning into his soul – it was exactly 6 minutes and 42 seconds) before Joseph said anything.

"You're just like your dad."

Nicholas raised his head sharply and looked at Joe. The wide-eyed boy sitting before the older man had hundreds of different questions to ask, and he didn't know which was the most important.

"What?"

Joe chuckled. Had it been anyone else, Nicholas might have said it was humorless, but Joe's laughter had warmth to it.

Nicholas, still trying to make his mind _just choose a stupid question_ , managed to squeak out, "How could you possibly know?"

Joe squeezed Nicholas's shoulder with his left hand. "I knew your father. He was a good man, and he was a lot like you. The only obvious difference is your hair color."

Nicholas just stared.

"He was good friends with my little brother."

 _Joe has a brother?_ Nicholas thought. _Huh. Who woulda thunk?_

Between each sentence, Joe cast a glance to the shocked young man by his side. "Your father...he wanted to be a teacher. He cared about children, much like you." At Nicholas's wide eyes, he chuckled and nudged him with his shoulder. "I've known about your volunteer hours and donations to the orphanages before you knew Mia even existed."

Nicholas didn't know what to make of it. He didn't know what to make of _any_ of this, in fact.

"Your father was loyal to a fault. He was skilled with words, and that's a big reason as to why he was such a fantastic speaker. And, frankly, he was one of the most intelligent men I've ever met."

"Bet he didn't try to stage a palace coup," Nicholas muttered under his breath as he finally looked away.

"No," Joe said. His words were simple. "But if doubt was a person, your father was it. He didn't know what expectations – if any – he could live up to. His loyalties were tested. He kept to himself, never letting his guard down. That is, until you were born."

Nicholas furrowed his brow and looked back at Joseph.

"You did something to him, Nicholas. It wasn't anything bad, just...he loved you."

Nicholas pursed his lips and nodded, looking away. Joe wasn't one to withhold information unless he deemed it important to do so, and he was clearly doing so now.

"Do you know how your father died, Nicholas?"

That was the only thing about his father that had been seared into his memory. He refused to look at the public records.

He clenched his jaw and nodded his head. "It was a natural disaster." After a slight pause, he said, "It was a tornado."

Joe nodded his head slightly. "Yes. It was the only Genovian tornado I can remember, and certainly the only you lived through. You had been outside, being a little boy and playing in the dirt, trying to catch as many tadpoles as your little hands could carry. And your father was looking after you. There was no ditch when the tornado came. Your father shielded you with his body. It's not clear as to what exactly killed him, but it had to have been a large piece of debris."

Nicholas looked back at Joseph, a silent way of telling him to continue.

Joe patted his back and stood. "You know, son, forgetting is often a coping mechanism."

Nicholas clenched his jaw and nodded slowly.

"I think that's what happened with you."


End file.
